Harry Potter and the Stone with Two Names
by Hot Cocoa
Summary: Harry's reptilian kindred spirit, penguin toast, and a wizarding world that judges one's character by the consonants of one's name. In the first two chapters alone! What more could you ask for?
1. The Drop Off

Harry Potter and the Stone with Two Names  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were quite ordinary, thank you very much. In fact, they were so ordinary they were rather boring and had this book detailed their lives, there would never have been a sequel as no-one would have read past the third chapter, and the world would never know what any of it had to do with the title character, Harry Potter.  
  
But, as anyone in any even half-way decent story, the Dursleys had a secret they couldn't let anyone find out, ever- Mrs. Dursley had once cheated on a spelling bee in second year! That and her sister was a witch. Or a traveling circus performer. Or maybe a mime... At any rate, they didn't want the neighbors to know, so they lived their pitifully uneventful lives with their equally boring son, Dudley, and refused any and all contact with Mrs. Dursley's almost interesting sister, mildly intriguing husband, something Potter, and their equally more interesting son, Harry.   
  
And so it was that one day, a Tuesday maybe, the Dursleys began a dreadfully plain morning talking about horribly uninteresting things and going to great lengths to be quite ordinary. Mr. Dursley was a typical fat, angry husband, and Mrs. Dursley was a gossipy toothpick and somehow, both were oddly proud of this. Mr. Dursley went to work for his company that made some equipment for something which was also painfully boring. When the mundanity of it all had began to sink in and the man was almost in tears over how monotonous and routine his life had began while waiting for the story to develop a plot line, he finally saw it-  
  
'The cracker!' It was in fact the cracker he'd dropped last week. It was stuck right in the corner of his huge mustache. He took it out, carefully fixed the hair, then dusted off the cracker and ate it. Leaning back in his chair while he chewed, he noticed for he first time that it had gotten awfully dark. As he peered at the sky, trying to decide if there was an eclipse, something flew at him and bounced off the window, leaving feathers in it's wake. 'It isn't dark, it's that the sun is being blocked out by a flock of giant, angry seagulls! No wait, maybe parakeets.' The bird pitifully dragged itself onto the windowsill and collected it's feather, shooting a glare at the fat man. 'Oh yes, owls, that was it.'  
  
As he watched this, he suddenly remember he'd seen a cat reading a map while he'd driven to work that morning and began to laugh to himself. 'That darned cat and the map...' When the novelty had worn off about 2.6 seconds later, he decided to go home, fighting his way past a number of the birds to finally get to his mind-numbingly undescript car.  
  
Once in it, he began to speed towards his house and in the process, narrowly missed hitting another big bird. It was in fact, the biggest bird of all.  
  
'Watch it ya [censored]! I got a show ta tape!' Yelled the six foot tall bird. It was yellow and walked, perhaps because it couldn't fly. The two exchanged angry words, consisting mostly of the ABCs, (though 123 were often thrown in the mix,) then the big bird looked both ways before crossing the road and left, calling him a muggle.  
  
Mr. Dursley started to turn the car back on when he over heard some people on the street. They were all wearing cloaks and pointed hats and whispering about magic. 'Damn sci-fi conventions...' The large man cursed as the car sputtered out. A few more words drifted towards him and he was sure he'd caught the words "Killed" and "the Potters" and was almost giddy with excitement that the black sheep of the family may have met their fitting end when he realized it was important to the storyline he believe it all rubbish and started the car again. This time it worked, so he went home. Well, to the bar for a few hours and then home.   
  
When he arrived a few hours later in a drunken stupor, he thought he noticed the same cat he'd seen this morning. 'Can't be...' He told himself, noting it wasn't reading a map. 'Do something funny or go home!' He ordered the cat and it looked at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. Ah yes, it was a normal cat.   
  
The oddities didn't end there. As the evening news came on around 5 or 6, whenever it comes on in England, they were talking about the sightings, too. The news caster said, 'American celebrity Big Bird has been sighted all across England today. If you see him, give us a call!'  
  
'Wretched celebrities think they own the world...' Mr. Dursley slurred drunkenly.   
  
'Oh yeah, and there were owls all day.' Added the anchor. "And shooting stars.'  
  
'Stupid kids and their firecrackers..." The man went on until his wife entered the room. 'D'your sister call?'  
  
'I don't have a sister.' Mrs. Dursley answered in a state of Prozac denial. She'd been taking mother's little helpers even since Dudley had been born. 'And if she did, she wouldn't call. And there were no owls, no shooting stars, and Harry didn't kill anyone, especially not an evil wizard who's been terrorizing the secret magical words for years!'  
  
'Whoops, I meant your mother.' The man corrected. 'It's he birthday, isn't it?'  
  
'Oh. Yes, she did.' The two finished watching the news and gossiping, then went to bed because they had little else in their lives to pass the hours.  
  
Around midnight a man appeared on the corner by the name of Albus Dumbledoor, not hat it meant anything to the readers who'd never heard the name in their lives. He was tall and thin, with lots of white hair and an obsession with both purple clothing and sweets.   
  
'Finally!' Hollered the cat, stiffly from their front lawn. The map was back out and she was studying it. 'I swear, I've memorized every street from here to Nottingham!' And, indeed, she had.   
  
'I had to wait until midnight, that's when all the best plot developments occur,' The old man answered merrily and went to fish a candy out of his pocket. When he looked up the cat had turned into an equally stiff woman. 'Candy, Professor McGonagall?' He offered some kind of treat the "muggles" ate.  
  
The woman politely refused, mumbling something about it giving her hairballs, then looked at him strictly. 'So is You-Know-Who gone now?'  
  
'What's with all this "You-Know-Who" business? At least you should be able to call him Voldemort.' Professor McGonagall cringed at the name, as all did when it was heard. Not because of the foul condensations the name ensued, but because of a casual dislike of all names starting with "V".  
  
'I meant Harry.' The woman replied cooly. 'You were supposed to bring him here.'  
  
'Er, right. I left him with Hagrid, they should be here soon.' Dumbledoor searched his pocket again, found another candy which he quickly consumed, then took out a lighter which was really more of an unlighter because it sucked up all the lights in the area.   
  
Moments later, there was a terrific crash somewhere near the road as a flying motorbike attempted to land in the pitch black. ' 'e're a'righ'...' Mumbled a slightly incoherent voice. The Earth shook a few times as the giant rider of the giant motorcycle made his way towards the pair, carrying something delicate in his massive hands. He was huge with masses of equally huge hair (it was the eighties, keep in mind) although no one could see it because Dumbledoor had stolen all of the light.   
  
'There you are Hagrid,' Smiled the old man as he squinted through the dark at what had once been a large motorcycle. 'And where did you find that motorbike?'  
  
'Got it from Sirius Black,' Answered the giant, mentioning another person who would mean nothing to the readers until they'd read the third book and immediately fallen in love with him or wanted to be him.   
  
'Pity... I wanted one.' Dumbledoor quickly collected himself. They discussed whether the large man had had any trouble digging the boy out of the rubble of the house, and where this Sirius might have purchased such a fine vehicle until Hagrid burst into tears.  
  
'You can't leave 'im with 'ese 'orrid peo'le!' He wailed. 'I'll take 'im instea', please!'   
  
'He has to say hear to develop the storyline, or we'll all be out of the novel.' Said Dumbledoor rather harshly.  
  
'Not just one novel, but seven,' Added McGonagall.   
  
The three agreed to leave him, though they all secretly wanted to bring him home with them and vowed to treat him as their own son, then went home, wishing the boy luck.  
  
The next morning Mrs. Dursley found Harry and a note in the flowerbed while spying on the neighbors where the trio had dropped him in their despair the night before. So began the worst ten years of young Harry's life.  
  
The next night, Dumbledoor returned to give the street back it's light. 


	2. The Escape Plan

Harry Potter and the Stone with Two Names  
  
«.:^:.:^:.: Chapter Two .:^:.:^:.:»  
  
About ten years later, nothing much had changed at number 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys were still undoubtably boring, as was their house, yard, car, clothing, meals, shampoo, fabric softener... the list could go on. The only thing that had seemed to change in the decade was the age and weight of their incredibly fat son. Oh, and that they'd acquired the services of a house-elf.   
  
It was an odd, short and skinny creature who seemed to own no clothing of it's own. It did most of the cooking and cleaning, and in return lived in the cupboard under the stairs. It's name was Harry, though they called it a number of other things. On this particular morning, it was neglecting its duties of 24/7 servitude to sleep.   
  
'Get up!!!' Screeched Petunia Dursley, pounding on the door with as much force as an 80 lb woman could.  
  
Startled out of his wits, Harry sat bolt up-right, only to fall back into bed after cracking his head on the underside of a stair. Rubbing his forehead, he smiled with the small hope of gaining another lightening-bolt shaped scar. Checking a small mirror that hung on one of the stairs across from him, he frowned. 'Will I ever sport a matching set?' He wondered.   
  
'Up, up up!' His aunt yelled again, slamming a fist on the door one last time before going to check on a meal she had remarkably began to cook on her own. Staring glumly into the mirror at his singly-scarred forehead, Harry tried to cheer himself up by remembering his dream. He'd been on a flying motorbike, and was sure he'd had that dream before. No, now he was thinking of the one with the flying monkeys on tricycles.   
  
'Are you up yet?!' Demanded his aunt Petunia again from the other side of the door. 'You have to make Duddy an extra special meal this morning, it's his birthday so everything has to be perfect!' It seemed the woman had already begun the meal as already, the boy could smell it burning as he dug under his little, cupboard-shaped bed until he found some clothing, still mourning his non-existent second scar. The outfit was the size of a tent and covered in cobwebs and dust. Thus, all his clothing was grey, or soon became so. Noticing a large dust-bunny stuck to his pants, he plucked it off and set it on the floor.   
  
'Run free little rabbit!' Harry cried and the dust floated back under the bed in the breeze he created with his breath. 'Run free! At least one of us can.' With that, he changed, pried himself out of the cupboard and went to salvage breakfast.   
  
Dudley, his extremely wide cousin, was counting his birthday presents as best he could, which wasn't well as he had failed math countless times, pardon the pun. 'There are only 63!' He shouted, when finally he'd finished. 'That's less than last year! That's-' He seemed to be trying to do the math in his head, but quickly gave up. 'Far less!' His face was going bright red and he began to wail. This caused all the dogs in the neighbourhood to bark, as they mistook him for an emergency vehicle.   
  
'Calm down Duddy,' Aunt Petunia insisted, seeing the beginnings of either a tantrum or a fine for disturbing the peace. 'It's not less than last year, everyone know 63 is four more than 89!' It was a cruel trick to play with his head like that, and Harry noted she was likely part to blame for his failing math, but it did work in calming him down.   
  
'Oh, okay.' He nodded and ripped open all 63 presents in under 20 minutes flat. By this time, Harry had finished cooking a twelve-course breakfast, and actually managed to eat something before Dudley and his father, Harry's Uncle Vernon, polished off everything on the table. And these two, Harry noted, were probably part to blame for his being so short and thin, even for a ten year old. He wore broken glasses that were taped together from all the times he'd fell on his face after tripping on his extra baggy clothes. The glasses framed his eyes which were bright green. It was a pity, too, as Harry- for no apparent reason- hated the colour green and all it stood for. His hair was dark and always a mess no matter how often he washed, brushed, cut, gelled or tied bows in it. Harry had been deep in contemplation of which bow to use today, when he realized the Dursleys were once again talking about him like he wasn't there.   
  
'A broken leg is no reason not to take him!' Uncle Vernon protested, looking at the boy as if he was something that had been sent down the garbage disposal and somehow came back up. 'They just have tea and look at photos, don't they?!' And sadly enough, they did. Harry could recall one particularly long afternoon where she had shown him pictures of ever cat she'd ever owned, and her mother's before her, and her mother's before her. He could rhyme them all off like a poem. Peter, Augustus, Alonso or James... Someone should really write a poem about that, he thought.   
  
'It seems she keeps the albums under her couch and can't reach them with the broken leg.' Aunt Petunia explained. The pair thought of all the people they knew they could pass him off onto while Harry daydreamed about going on Dudley's birthday visit to the zoo. Such a deep, and vivid daydream in fact, he actually believed he was there.   
  
'Hello Mr. Penguin,' Said Harry, waving to a piece of toast and smiling broadly. Being burnt and buttered as it was, on an island of white plate, it did sort of, if you squinted, look a litt- who are we kidding? It was toast. 'Maybe I could sneak you home, and you could be my friend.' The toast did not wave back.   
  
'What's he doing now?!' Demanded a flushed Uncle Vernon while Dudley loudly proclaimed him to be a nutter before punching him. This brought the scrawny boy back to reality and he blinked a few times, seeing the toast now for what it was, but still sad it could never be.  
  
'Now we have to take him with us!' Aunt Petunia snapped, and so they did. Dudley had, of course, protested but that was quickly put to an end when Harry shouted 'Don't leave yet! We haven't seen the lions!' on there way out the door, pointing first to the shrubs, then finally to a rather hairy neighbor. It clearly wouldn't be safe for their reputation to leave him unattended. Harry's mind, speeding along as it was, had thought the drive there had been the drive back. Perhaps that was why he'd felt it safe to say what he did next.   
  
'I had a dream about a motorbike.' Said the boy, foolishly for although his mind was still ahead, he clearly could not predict the outcome of the discussion. 'Not really about the bike. It was about my parents, but then they were killed by an evil, magical, wizard overlord who then tried to kill me but failed, leaving this scar on my head, and then this giant man came a dug me out and then we got on the flying motorbike and he left me here.'   
  
Uncle Vernon's already red face reddened until it wasn't so much red anymore as a nice burgundy shade. He slammed on the breaks, avoiding a collision himself but causing a multi-car pileup behind. Turning around in his seat, he made sure he was but a few inches away from Harry's face before yelling. 'MOTORBIKES DO NOT FLY!'   
  
Harry, dreams once again dashed, nodded and looked out the window. A motorbike promptly flew past, but the boy said nothing.   
  
The trip to the zoo was, for the most part, enjoyable for Harry though a living hell for the Dursleys who tried to look like every other happy family out for the day. Which isn't saying much. The day passed without event until they went to visit the reptiles. Harry, loathing the colour green as he did, decided to stay near the boa constrictor as it was the least green of the lot.   
  
When Dudley had finished tormenting all the other snakes, he realized he'd forgotten this one and thusly approached. The snake remained where it was. Dudley taped on the glass. The snake stayed. Dudley yelled at the snake. It didn't blink. Dudley threw a tantrum and called his father over who then went through the exact same steps. All without reaction. Deciding the snake was dead, they left.   
  
'I wish I could play dead that well.' Harry said in admiration of the snake who then winked. The boy wasn't sure snakes could wink, but alas, he couldn't be sure as he'd been trying to cut back his viewing of the Crocodile Hunter. 'I'm sorry they bothered you. Usually they find tormenting me enough.' He went on sympathetically. The two proceeded to have a brief, though satisfying discussion what it's like to live in a small, cramped prison and how do you get those greasy fingerprints off the glass? Within minutes, the two had found they were kindred spirits and decided to run away with each other. They were just debating how when the problem solved itself.   
  
Dudley, finished bothering the iguana, had returned to find the boa constrictor perfectly not dead. He ran over as fast as his round body and tiny legs would carry him to try and get in one last wrap on the glass.   
  
The escape plans were made so very much easier when, inexplicably, the glass was gone.   
  
'Run, my friend! Run free!' Shouted Harry to the boa constrictor. Had the fact he was talking to a snake not been reason enough for the Dursleys' to be reassured of his insanity, that fact he'd told a snake to run would have. This statement was so startling in fact, Dudley fell over, through the hole where the glass had been, and into the pit. 'I'll meet up with you later at "the place"!' Harry told the snake who paused to give its kindred spirit one last look.   
  
Needless to say, things from that point on hadn't gone well. Harry hadn't been able to meet up with the boa constrictor, and he was sent to the cupboard the second they got back to number 4 Privet Drive. He was let out a few hours later to be yelled at, then thrown back in. Despite the few flaws, it was perhaps the best day of Harry's life up to that point. Which is why, you can see, he'd always dreamed of someone coming to take him away.  
  
'I'll meet up with you later,' Harry repeated wistfully hours later, staring up at the stairs in his cupboard. 'At "the place".'   
  
«.:^:.:^:.: Author's Notes .:^:.:^:.:»  
  
Okay, I'm sorry it took me so long to get this second chapter written. I've been busy with school, and easily distracted by drawing, books and hockey (on tv, I can't play). And on top of that, I've been having trouble logging into Fanfiction.com lately. But I'd have been this long anyway, so don't blame it.   
  
Also, my time has gone to another Harry Potter related project, http://www.cah.hostrocket.com/ "A Canadian at Hogwarts." It's a comic written and drawn back and forth between me and Awkward. At first, it was joke, so the drawing quality gets progressively better as you go on.  
  
«.:^:.:^:.: Disclaimer! .:^:.:^:.:»  
  
I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters, creatures, or concepts, although I have a copy of every book and DVD to date. As such, I'm granted only the right to view them, not to write about them- but they're just so good I can't resist.   
  
The point is, they aren't mine, which you've probably realized by now. 


	3. The Spies

Harry Potter and the Stone with Two Names  
  
«.:^:.:^:.: Chapter Three .:^:.:^:.:»  
  
Any hopes of meeting up with Bowie, as he'd decided to name the boa constrictor, seemed dashed as Harry wasn't let to leave the cupboard until the start of summer holidays. Dudley had destroyed every birthday present he'd received by that point, and as he had nothing left to amuse himself, had reverted back to beating up Harry. His latest attempt had been at hog-tying Harry, after which he was going to hang him from a tree and use him as a punching bag. Dudley's hopes, too, were dashed, as he was completely winded before he'd even found a rope.  
  
Just in case, Harry spent as much time as possible away from the house. He'd wander the town all day long, looking for Bowie. It would have been so much easier if they'd ever decided where "the place" was. 'How could you not wait for me!' Harry cried in anguish, receiving an odd look from Mrs. Figg. He'd been dumped at her house while the Dursley's went shopping for Dudley's new school clothes. It was an all-day event because he was too big to fit in normal sizes and had to have uniforms specially tailored in XXXXL.   
  
'I didn't think you wanted to help clean the litter boxes.' Mrs. Figg told him apologetically. Harry mumbled a quick apology, and lied that he'd been talking to the telly. For show, he shouted something about them voting the wrong guy off the island. Mrs. Figg agreed. They were watching Cast Away.  
  
Later that night, Dudley danced around the house in his new school uniform. He was going to go to Smeltings or Smellings, or Smitings or something like that. It was maroon and yellow and made him look like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb trapped in a circus tent. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were terribly proud, and Harry decided they must have had a laps of colour-blindness. At least it wasn't green.  
  
That was all he could say good about his own school uniform. Some of Dudley's old clothes that Aunt Petunia had dunked in leftover Easter-egg dye. It smelled like egg, too. Harry could imagine how good they'd smell by the time school started. Dudley smelt the eggs too, and came crashing in for breakfast, followed by Uncle Vernon. There was the click of the letter box, and Harry -who never got the mail- was forced to today because of destiny. Or if you don't believe in that sort of thing, to advance the plot and, inevitably, save the world. And because the Dursley's were too lazy to get it themselves.  
  
At any rate, Harry went to get mail. There were bills, flyers, a survey, a Victoria Secret... Harry glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was around and quickly pocketed it before noticing one last letter on the ground. It was to him. He was so shocked at finding something addressed to him, he decided reluctantly to put the survey back. Now, he picked up the letter, turning it over to inspect it from all angles. He never received letters, mostly because he had no one to send ones to him. Unless... Quickly, Harry checked the address on the letter.  
  
Mr. H. Potter  
  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
  
4 Privet Drive  
  
Little Whinging  
  
Surrey  
  
'I knew it!' He declared, punching a triumphant fist into the air. So, top-secret government agents were spying on him after all. Who else would be so precise as to know that he not only lived at 4 Privet Drive, but in the cupboard under the stairs?  
  
'Unless,' Harry added aloud with a look of panic, tossing the envelope outside and ducking for cover. 'It's from the top-secret enemy government agents!' He hid, waiting for the explosion as there was, obviously, a bomb in the package. Sadly, it never came.   
  
'Get back in here, boy!' Boomed Mr. Dursley from the other room. Obediently, Harry came and handed him the mail, save the survey he'd once again pocketed.   
  
The next day was more-or-less the same. Harry was laying on his stomach on his bed of his cramped little cupboard. Carefully, he drew a small line through one of the last boxes with a HB pencil, careful not to fill in any of the other boxes, least his results vary. He read the next line, which thanked him for his time in completing their survey.   
  
'No, thank you.' Harry smiled back at it. There was a pounding at his door, and he could hear his aunt telling him something about getting the mail. Eager for another fun and stimulating survey, the boy dashed off to get it.   
  
To his dismay, there was no survey, no questionnaires, and not even a pyramid scheme. He'd almost given up hopes of finding anything mildly entertaining when, again, there was a letter addressed to him. It was the exact same as the one the day before. This time, Harry wasn't worried about bombs as he reached down to pick it up; he knew exactly who it was from.   
  
'Oh Bowie!' The boy grinned, shaking his head as he stared at it. 'You shouldn't have. And such lovely penmanship...' He gushed, completely unaware of how difficult it would be for a boa constrictor to hold a pen, let alone write calligraphy.   
  
There were shouts from the kitchen, so Harry hastily grabbed the mail and went to give it to his Uncle. The various envelopes kept the man busy for a short time before Dudley noticed Harry had something. After making a huge fuss, he persuaded his father to rip the envelope from Harry's hands.   
  
The large man had barely opened it before he started to choke.   
  
'What does it say!?' Pestered Dudley.  
  
'It was a group of top-secret government agents after all!' Harry insisted gleefully.   
  
The Dursley's all gave him odd looks. Harry didn't notice.  
  
'I wanna read it!' Dudley continued to whine.  
  
'It's my letter,' Harry stated sensibly. 'And I want to know what the spies want with me before I agree to anything.'  
  
'OUT!' Screamed Uncle Vernon, shaking the pictures on the walls and spilling over a glass of orange juice. When neither boy moved, he got ready to yell again, but they finally had the sense to run. The man still shouted and houses away, one of Mrs. Figg's cat pictures fell off the wall.   
  
There were lots of hushed whispers between Mr. and Mrs. Dursley that Harry listened in on through the door. Most of them were muffled, and surprisingly quiet for such loud people, but he could make out a few words. Something about people "watching", and "not having one in this house," and even though Dudley had beaten him away from the door, his tears were not in pain, but in joy.   
  
'I knew it!' He said again, forgetting Bowie and reverting back to his original daydream. Somewhere, Bowie cried. Even a snake can cry crocodile-tears. 'My parents didn't die in a car crash!'  
  
'Then what?' Dudley asked, not sure whether to laugh or punch Harry. 'Were they some magical beings who happened to get in the middle of an ultimate show-down between good and evil and befall a horrible fate at the hand of their sworn enemy?'  
  
'No.' Said Harry firmly. 'They were spies.'   
  
'Don't be ridiculous,' Said Dudley, and while Harry recovered from the shock of his cousin knowing a four syllable word, the large boy beat him up.  
  
Within a week, Harry's life had drastically changed. He was now a top-secret government agent working with Bowie to uncover corruption on the global scale. By night. In his dreams. His waking life had changed quite a bit more surprisingly. His uncle, afraid the British secret service was watching, from what Harry could figure, had let him move into Dudley's second bedroom. On top of that, no-one had asked him to get the mail again, although he desperately wished they would.   
  
'Vernon must be an enemy agent,' Harry had decided one boring afternoon. 'He's been keeping me prisoner all these years.' The boy had tried every secret agent trick he knew, and he'd even seen most of Dudley's James Bond movies. No matter how hard he tried, his uncle would not allow him to get that message.  
  
Now how would the top-secret government agents and Bowie contact him? They were too smart for the phone -it could be tapped- and Harry never accepted e-mails from strangers for fear of viruses. Or maybe viri. What was the plural...? It didn't matter because the top-secret government agents alway found a way.  
  
When Uncle Vernon nailed down the mail-flap, they slid letters under the door. When he filled up the cracks around the door with grout, they used the windows. When he duct taped the windows shut, they began to flood in the chimney. His uncle tried to close it up, too, but the cement kept falling back down the hole and, as Harry had to explain, it was the only opening keeping them from suffocating.   
  
So his Uncle had another brilliant idea. If he put a vent in the chimney, the letters couldn't get in, but the air could. That and to go on vacation. The letters wouldn't find him there.   
  
'We're going camping!' Announced Uncle Vernon one morning at the crack of dawn. He had already packed and the bags were at the door. Before anyone was awake enough to question him, they were ushered into the car and driven away.   
  
They drove for hours upon hours with out any stops, things to do, or something to eat. The man was far to crazed to talk to, so the ride was silent.   
  
It was almost nightfall when they reached the camping sight in Devon. It was just a farmer's field with campers parked in it. They would be in plain sight! Not to mention it would be extremely boring. They had begun to unpack when a letter fell from the sky.  
  
Mr. H. Potter  
  
The Dursley's Car  
  
The Camp Sight  
  
Devon  
  
Uncle Vernon became so furious, he shoved them all back into the car, drove to the edge of the country, then bought a boat and sailed until he hit a clump of rocks with a shed on them. He shooed them all in, despite Dudley's whining, Aunt Petunia's cringes, and Harry's shouts that the spies would still find him. They were just in time, too, as a storm was beginning to brew. From inside their tiny shed, they could hear the whirring of the wind, the pounding of the rain, and Dudley's howls of freight.   
  
There were more odd noises, but Harry didn't care. It was minutes until his tenth birthday, and he was daydreaming about when the top-secret government agents would come and take him under their wing. And he and Bowie could fight crime...   
  
Five seconds left.  
  
The banging sound became clearer outside.  
  
Four, three...  
  
They were getting closer, now.  
  
Two  
  
One more boom.  
  
One-  
  
There was one last blast of sound, and the door to the shack caved in on top of itself. Harry gaped in surprise at what he saw.  
  
«.:^:.:^:.: Author's Notes .:^:.:^:.:»  
  
Since Wednesday, I have been literally swamped with projects (if perhaps my binder were to explode open, drowning in papers would be a serious possibility) and I've been working on them for every waking moment except for when I'm at my job (more work). The only free time I had I spent finishing up the last bit of this chapter, and now uploading it for you guys. So feel special!  
  
While writing this chapter, I had to flip back and check something in the book and found that Mr. Dursley actually accused Harry of checking for letter bombs! It was such strange a coincidence, I had to mention it. Also, I'm not sure if this chapter was as funny as it could have been, but I don't have as many jokes about the normal world, so things should get better soon.  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviews, and will review. I love to get them!  
  
«.:^:.:^:.: Disclaimer! .:^:.:^:.:»  
  
I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters, creatures, or concepts. I don't own a boa constrictor, or the patent for HB pencils. Also, I have no connection to top-secret government agents...   
  
In England. 


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